Doctor Who: Drift (21 page)
Authors: Simon A. Forward
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Science Fiction, #Space Opera, #Doctor Who (Fictitious character)
‘Get away from me!’
Hating the sound of her own scream, sore in her throat, Amber spun blindly and ran headlong out the door. The world had never seemed so far away, and all she wanted to do was run and run until it wasn’t even a memory.
* * *
teeth!’
Makenzie tossed up his arm and watched Amber fade behind the screen of snow. He could hear Martha’s trot slowing as she came up beside him.
‘Leave her go.’ She could use some time to herself Martha was puffing, but Makenzie knew her pained expression had nothing to do with the run. She’d just lost the man she called a hundred different names and he had no idea how to feel for her right now. ‘Christ,’ she added, ‘she probably would have run anyway, if I’d broken it to her gently.’
Makenzie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But then, Martha hadn’t been out on that road. Martha hadn’t lost Laurie.
‘You don’t understand, Martha.’ He started for the store.
The door opened and his brother was already emerging, along with the CIA agents and that Doctor character. Two troopers went inside carrying a stretcher. ‘It’s dangerous. The weather, and all.’
‘No, I understand.’ Martha stepped up to Makenzie, ignoring the onlookers and shooting him a look that was half-appeal, half-accusation. ‘It’s the plainest thing I’ve ever seen in those eyes of yours, Makenzie Shaw. Exasperation. You’re about ready to give up on us and I can’t say as I blame you.
Nobody needs this kind of headache in their life.’
‘Christ, Martha.’ Makenzie felt everybody’s eyes on him like the cold. ‘I’ll go find her, fetch her hack.’ He wanted to deny any sense of exasperation, feeling guilty in advance for the lie. The store door opening saved him, putting the rest of his words on hold.
His silence was joined by a collective hush as the stretcher-bearers carried their pathetic bundle from the store. Most everyone retreated as though afraid of the form covered by that plain plastic sheet. Not least of all, Makenzie, who watched Martha’s eyes follow it as far as her numbed neck would allow.
Only the wind dared speak.
* * *
‘Want to tell me what’s got you riled,
honey-pie?’
She paced around the centre table, flipped the sheet back from the covered corpse. ‘You mean apart from your Southern-beau terms of endearment?’ Flicking hair back from her face, she took a long hard look at her subject ‘That Doctor guy, that’s what. He knows a lot more than he’s letting on and he was playing games with us back there, I swear.’
Parker shrugged himself up from his leaning stance. ‘Well, he would, darling.’ He was piling on his Southern accent because he knew he had his dear partner rattled. ‘He’s Doctor John Smith aka the Doctor. Scientific Adviser to UNIT. I’ve got a profile of him on the computer - you want me to go get it?’
Melody sighed like an extinguished fire. Plenty of embers still smouldered, ‘I knew it.’
‘Those White Shadow boys did a good job on the lab. don’t you think?’
Melody feigned patience badly while Parker passed an eye or two around the hastily converted hotel lounge. The soldiers had culled benches and tables from other rooms and neighbouring houses; equipment had been brought in from the vehicles and left a bare minimum clear as available work surface. A pool table had been rudely pushed to the wall, and its attendant light shone down on the grisly cadaver of the deranged perp Melody had plugged. The bar lights lent their illumination a little reticently to the scene.
‘Great ambience.’ concluded Parker.
‘Yeah, well, why don’t you fetch yourself a beer and I’ll conduct the post mortem as well as worry about this Doctor poking his nose in where it’s not wanted.’
‘It’s a prominent nose. The guy probably can’t help It.’
‘
Parker
.’
Parker beamed his friendliest beam and sauntered closer.
‘Trust me, partner, I’m way ahead of him. The fact he’s here could mean something could mean nothing. You never know, a guy like that could prove useful. Meanwhile, we just stick with our programme and watch the situation like hawks.’ He slid his arms around her and stooped to kiss her forehead.
‘Now, you want me to go get that profile, learn a bit more about who we’re dealing with?’
‘Sure, I could probably use the computer anyway, when I get into the analysis.’ Placated, she pursed her lips thoughtfully and tilted her head way back so she could meet his gaze. ‘First, you can prepare me a few slides of those alleged ice crystals while I open up this corpse.’
‘You’re a true romantic,’ he declared unenthusiastically.
He fished in his pocket for gloves and tweezers, and he was SOON scraping gingerly at the barbed veins of ice still jutting up through Redeker’s skin.
‘Oh, come on! This project of yours has been about much more than flying aircraft through storms. Not only were you planning on generating storm fronts as cover for military flights, you’re actually developing a system for directing those same storms against ground targets. Using the weather as a weapon. And you’re trying to tell me you knew nothing about it?’
Morgan sucked in about as much air as he could take.
Hemmed in outside the store, he’d packed those CIA inter-lopers off to start on the autopsy, but the Doc was refusing to join them until he’d had his say.
‘No, Doc, I’m telling you I don’t
care
about it. It’s not my place to care. I’m given a job and I’m free to exercise my initiative as long as that job gets done. You might try it yourself some time.’ He acknowledged the waiting troops and civilians, particularly conscious of his brother’s sour expression pushing its way forward.
The Doctor cut in darkly: ‘I don’t appreciate being lied to, Captain.’
‘And I don’t appreciate being lectured, so I guess that makes us even. Give me a break, will you? Unless you have anything relevant to add, I suggest-’
‘Oh but I have.’ Somehow, the news came as no surprise.
Morgan braced himself. ‘Find that child, Captain. Do everything you can. And organise the search parties in groups of four or five. There may be safety in numbers.’
Morgan was getting used to staring at the Doctor like he was several nuts short of a pecan pie. ‘Safety in-?’ He pitched his voice low. ‘Are you saying who or whatever attacked Redeker - they could be here in town?’
He could see everyone around straining to catch the slightest word. The Doctor at least had the smarts to keep his voice low too. Somehow it still managed to ring just as ominously. ‘My dear Captain, before we speculate on where they are. don’t you think it would be a good idea to focus our attention on who or what
they
might be? It’s very possible that man was contaminated in some way and if it’s airborne in these winds, well-’
The Doc didn’t have to finish his point and they both knew it.
Morgan pitched his voice lower still. ‘Could we be talking biological warfare here?’
‘Well, most warfare is biological,’ the Doctor batted the question away like a philosopher swatting a nuisance fly. Not a gesture designed to appease. ‘In the sense that living things tend to be involved on one level or another. But yes, we could he looking at some sort of viral agent, a biological weapon of some kind.’
Morgan steadied himself, his nerves walking a piano-wire tightrope That’s quite a leap. Doc. I mean, shouldn’t you be weighing all the alternatives, like a good scientist?’
The Doctor pinned him with a steady gaze. He looked like some sort of mad butterfly collector, annoyed to find one of his more stubborn specimens still fluttering. ‘Well, I don’t like to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the fact is I can’t think of any alternatives, and when that happens, Captain Shaw, everyone tends to be being more trouble than they deserve.’
Sudden decision seized hold of him. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse
me
,’ the Doctor batted Morgan politely on the shoulder. ‘You have some search parties to organise, and I ought to make sure our two CIA visitors know what they’re doing.’
‘Great idea. Doc.’ Morgan clapped his hands together and thanked a few unnamed gods as the Doctor made for the hotel, he didn’t have any cause to be happy or relaxed about what he’d heard, but at least that was three people out of his hair now
‘Okay.’ he said, ‘now let’s
please
have some order here.’
‘Hallo!’ the Doctor announced his entrance with a wave of his hat and plenty of volume. ‘I was at a bit of a loose end and I was wondering if you could use an extra pair of hands and a scientific mind.’
The laboratory was a very makeshift affair, but that was the way the Doctor liked laboratories in general. Yes, a home from home.
Both agents looked up from their work: the young woman at the table, poised to make her first incision; and the powerfully built man slotting together some microscope slides over by the far bench. The two traded glances the Doctor couldn’t quite interpret.
‘You’re qualified?’ The woman’s voice was slightly muffled by her surgical mask.
‘In most things, yes,’ answered the Doctor absently. He plonked his hat back on and scooted around to loom over Melody Quartararo’s shoulder. She had cut away the dead man’s clothing, and having presumably completed a comprehensive external examination, she had just marked out the standard Y-incision on his chest.
‘Hm, you’ve done this sort of thing before. I see.’
‘A million times,’ she said, moving in with the scalpel once again.
‘I do hope that’s an exaggeration.’
Melody turned her head. She fumed behind the mask. ‘Can we please get on?’
‘Don’t let me stop you. Actually, there were a few things I was hoping to discuss.’
‘Talk to me.’ Parker Theroux prodded his shoulder from behind.
The Doctor spun like a whirlwind and grasped a stunned Parker by the shoulders. ‘Ah, there you are! I hope you won’t mind if I take a look at those crystals while we talk. It’ll save a lot of time. I take it you’ve got those slides ready, hmm?’
Parker blinked. ‘They’re about done.’
But the Doctor had barged past before Parker had finished speaking, making himself comfortable at the microscope and reaching urgently for the first slide.
‘Well,’ quipped Parker, rearranging himself after his brush with the Doctor, ‘I realise it’s a matter of life or death, but we could at least be civil, don’t you think?’
The Doctor dipped a weighty eye towards the lens, not expecting to like what he saw.
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor, ‘if my suspicions are founded in anything resembling the truth. Agent Theroux, life and death will be the least of our worries.’
Darkness crept in like a conspiracy at the edges of Mitch Lagoy’s world. He didn’t dare steady himself against a tree: they looked so brittle and blasted they might snap under his weight. Besides, if Jacks spotted him, she might be tempted to shoot him like a sick dog.
Even the Army doc, roped like some rodeo calf, was doing better.
Course, she wasn’t carrying the extra lead. The bullets nested inside, three hot stones multiplied into a thousand, igniting a trail of fire from his shoulder to his brain, warming the blood that squirted out of him and congealed inside his clothing. At the same time, an arctic chill had invaded his arms and his gut, while his legs had become dead weights that kept on moving like badly worn cylinders in an engine that didn’t know how badly it was screwed. The shotgun badly wanted to drop from his anaesthetised grip into the snow.
He was sweating a paranoid fever. Despite the effort it cost, he kept glancing back the way they’d come, where the snows flew down to smother their tracks. Not like an ally; more like some malicious serial killer erasing all trace of the victim’s approach to his lair.
Mitch felt hunted.
Jacks marched up front, her figure a broken transmission in the blizzard. So damn purposeful, like she actually had some idea where they were going.
The doc trudged between them, watching only Jacks in front, with occasional glances back at Mitch, which almost looked concerned. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
What he did wish was that he could hand her all three kilos of shotgun and be done with it. She could put a few shells into Jacks and get the hell off this mountain. They’d all be happy.
Jacks deserved it. She was—
Lagoy twisted his neck around hard. He came close to blacking out, but there had been something back there.
Some motion that wasn’t part of the storm.
No, paranoia.
Maybe another touch of wishful thinking; like he wanted something to pounce on them out of the whiteness and finish this. Could those Army boys be that good?
He tried for a tighter grip on the Mossberg. But as he faced front again the weapon was forty times heavier and the light drained out of his eyes. His knees hit the snow but he barely knew he’d fallen. He knelt there, fighting the dizziness.
He couldn’t make out Jacks any more, and he wondered, desperately, if she could see him. Someone came at him out of the blizzard.
